


Fifteen Years Later

by Benobi



Category: Uncharted (Video Games)
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, M/M, canon compliant as close as i can get it, will add characters and tags and warnings as they appear
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-26
Updated: 2018-04-26
Packaged: 2019-04-28 08:56:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,269
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14445804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Benobi/pseuds/Benobi
Summary: It was six thirty in the morning. By this time, Mark had already been awake for at least twenty minutes. It had been pleasant to wake early to watch the snow fall in the sleepy town of Kilmare. At least, it had been sleepy until a couple of years ago. The dull thud of explosions had disrupted the land’s beauty. Mark knew exactly had was going on, but venturing all the way up to St. Dismas’ cathedral was the last thing he ever wanted to do again.////////////Fifteen years after the death of Sam Drake, Mark Quine is settled into the small town of Kilmare, only a few miles away from St. Dismas' Cathedral. A way to escape his past. So, when the past comes knocking, what will he choose; the quiet life he'd made in Scotland, or the life of love and adventure he'd been longing for for so long?





	Fifteen Years Later

**Author's Note:**

> Hello and welcome to this highly self indulgent piece of work. As a Scottish native, this will have a lot of slang, however Kilmare is a fake town. St. Dismas is not a real cathedral in Scotland, so I figured a fake town name wouldn't hurt. Kudos, comments, questions, criticism and all that is appreciated very much!! <3
> 
> Mark's faceclaim is Euan McGregor, for anyone wondering.

When Mark opened his door that morning, Sam Drake was the last person he had expected to see.

It was six thirty in the morning. By this time, Mark had already been awake for at least twenty minutes. It had been pleasant to wake early to watch the snow fall in the sleepy town of Kilmare. At least, it had been sleepy until a couple of years ago. The dull thud of explosions had disrupted the land’s beauty. Mark knew exactly had was going on, but venturing all the way up to St. Dismas’ cathedral was the last thing he ever wanted to do again.

So when he heard the doorbell ring shrilly, an irritated sigh escaped his lips. Wrapping his dressing gown tighter around his body, he descended the stairs to his own personal front door, which was the technical backdoor to his café. Grimly, he wondered if it were another one of his asshole category customers, demanding why he wasn’t open yet. McDaniel’s had become a popular spot for residents of all age in Kilmare. Not Mark’s real surname, of course, but it was real to the residents. Many people came as soon as opening, which was seven in the morning, to grab a hot drink and a bacon roll before the daily grind. However, some started work before seven and a few even demanded McDaniel’s be open way earlier in the morning.

“I need my beauty sleep.” Mark would simply shrug, with a kind smile, thinking to himself how repulsed he was at their need for special treatment as his expense.

So when Mark swung open the door with a force, a scowl was already on his face. Slowly, it fell, as a mixture of confusion, horror and panic crossed over him.

Sam.

“Hey.” Was the first thing that came out of Sam’s mouth.

“Hi.” Was the only thing Mark could reply with.

Brown eyes glanced all over Sam, trying to take him in. He looked impossible. Snow was dusted over his shoulders and hair, which had clearly begun to thin. Though Mark’s hair really was no better. His nose was bright red, likely from having been exposed to the morning Scottish weather. Mark noticed several scars that hadn’t been there before. He had been so lost with staring at Sam, that his voice startled him.

“Can I come in?” He asked, with a little chuckle to punctuate the sentence. Mark silently stood aside, watching as the much taller man stepped into the hallway.

“Up the stairs.” He mumbled, nodding up the darkened stairwell that led up to his flat above the café. Sam trekked upwards without a word, leaving the utterly baffled Mark behind. He finally snapped back to reality when Sam left his vision and into the living area. He closed the door, locking it on impulse. If it wasn’t for the definite soft clump of boots upstairs, he would be convinced he was hallucinating.

Each step upstairs took energy, increasing the gnawing feeling in his gut. How could this be real? It couldn’t be real. Sam was dead. He had been for fifteen years. As he reached the top, Mark became aware of how silent it had become and was now almost afraid to enter the living area, in that chance he really was making everything up. But a quick glance into the barely lit room, illuminated by the glow of the snow alone, proved that Samuel Drake stood there, watching the snowfall from the large windows.

“Tea?” Mark had asked suddenly, breaking the silence and watching Sam jump, spinning quickly. He was jumpy, but so was Mark.

That familiar crooked grin appeared on Sam’s face as he nodded, and Mark had to look away before his heart melted. There was still the risk this was all a dream and Mark didn’t want to get too wrapped up in yet another false awakening. Mark quickly moved, padding over to the kitchen that was connected to his main area. He flicked on slights as he went. Mark turned the kettle on, before pausing, and lifting it to fill it with more water. He usually only ever filled it for one person.

“Nice place.” Sam commented, trying to fill the tense silence.  “Looks… Modern. Expensive.”

Mark hummed in response, placing the kettle back and watching it as it began to boil. “Had to do something with all the money.” The response was calm, cool and collected, but something was building inside of Mark. Too many years of suppressed emotion.

“You don’t do treasure hunting anymore?” Sam asked causally, as if they were simply two old friends, meeting again after a few months. And they were. But it had been much, much longer than a few months. Sam had been making his way toward the kitchen from the window, wondering why Mark hadn’t responded. When he arrived, suddenly Mark was close, inches away. Mark could smell whatever cologne Sam had on, and Sam could smell Mark’s natural scent, not unpleasant and so familiar and uniquely him. Their eyes met for a moment, trying to work each other out. Sam was startled when Mark gently cupped one of Sam’s cheeks.

Sam watched as Mark’s face somehow softened, but also focused. He rubbed his thumb softly over skin, stubble and a few aged scars. He leaned into the touch, a touch he had longed for for an eternity and exhaled through his nose. “You’re real.” Mark whispered, eyes looking to Sam’s , finally, for an answer. “You’re really real.”

The taller man chuckled. “Yeah.” He smiled, enjoying the moment of peace. Without warning, Mark’s hand was brought back and Sam had been slapped. Not too hard, but solid enough to bring him back to reality. His mouth gaped, cupping his own slapped cheek as he became faced with a no longer soft expression, but brown eyes fuelled with rage.

“Fifteen years!” Mark’s voice was raised, sounding much louder and angrier in that Scottish lilt. “Fifteen bastarding years, and all you’ve got to say is ‘yeah’?” He put on a thick, dumb voice for the ‘yeah’, mocking the man before him. “You just waltz in here making, what, small talk? And you think everything is gonna be alright? What the fuck, Sam? Where the fuck have you been?!”

Throughout Mark’s entire rant, Sam had remained silent. He deserved this. Only guilt and sadness painted his face.  “A Panamanian prison cell.” He grumbled, rubbing his assaulted cheek, though it really didn’t hurt all that much. Despite his anger, Mark hadn’t hit him hard.

“What?” Mark quipped back immediately, his trying to unbury years of locking what had happened fifteen years ago at the back of his head. The kettle’s boiling had been ignored until that final click, signalling it was finished. The noise took Mark by surprise and he turned around almost too quickly. “Water’s ready. Sit.” Upon the command, Sam pulled out a chair and sat down with haste. As Mark grabbed the mugs, he realised how badly his hands with trembling. Sam heard the mugs clink together and noticed the tremor. Standing to help, Mark refused to look at him as Sam grabbed the kettle. “I’m… Going to get dressed.” Mark mumbled, wrapping his dressing gown around him tighter again, not waiting for Sam’s response as he darted out of the room. He heard Sam sigh softly behind him as he reached his bedroom.

Thankfully, he had an en suite bathroom, so he wouldn’t have to face Sam until he had to. Dumping his dressing down and ripping his shirt off, Mark moved fast to the bathroom, standing and staring at himself in the mirror.

Regardless of what had been said, Sam had that strange talent of being able to make Mark feel like a teenager again. Just a love struck little boy. “Stop it.” He hissed to himself, filling the sink with cold water. Once filled, he splashed his face, gasping as the icy water hit. He stared at his aged features as they dripped with water. Twenty-two years of testosterone had changed him dramatically from the chubby cheeked kids that had to be rescued by the Drake brothers all those years ago. More than once. Mark scoffed at himself, grabbing a towel to rub his face dry. Glancing at the shower, he debated washing properly, then decided triumphantly that, if he had to wait fifteen years, Sam could wait an extra fifteen minutes.

The shower had come as a relief, allowing Mark the space to think. Stepping out, he hastily towel dried his cropped hair and dressed in a simple shirt and jeans. By the time he left, he noted that opening time was soon. He walked to the kitchen and, to his surprise, Sam was back in the chair he had been commanded to sit in. Looking up, Sam’s face lit up with a little smile. It was so endearing that Mark couldn’t quite help but smile back softly. “I made the tea.” Sam mentioned gently, looking almost like a puppy seeking praise after getting scolded. “You take it with a shit ton of milk and sugar, right?”

“Fifteen years and you still remember the way I take tea.” Mark chuckled, shaking his head and picking up the mug. He leaned against a counter, sipping the now long since cooled drink appreciatively. The two of them sat in a silence that neither of them could decipher as comfortable or not. “I need to open up downstairs, then we can talk. That’s why you’re here, right?”

Sam responded with a nod, opening his mouth, only to get cut off by the steady hum coming from Ben’s phone. “Just a second.” He sighed, pulled the phone out, glancing at the name and answering. “Morning, Debrah.” Mark said, which is all he got out before his staff member was crying down the line, clearly flustered.

“Mark, oh my god, I’m so sorry, I’m going to need the day off!” She ranted down the phone, though did indeed sound apologetic. “Sally woke up with a fever, I need to take her to the hospital and-“

Mark cut her off quickly. “Deb, sweetie, it’s fine. I’ll have it covered. Just get wee Sally to A&E. Will Kelly be able to get to school?”

The American watched as Mark reassured the woman, his accent getting thicker and softer, speaking with clear fondness. A passing thought was curious as to how long Mark had been in this town for. It didn’t take long before Mark was wishing this Debrah woman well and hanging up. When Sam looked inquisitive, Mark groaned. “I’m down a staff member. Poppy won’t be free until after eleven. She has a lecture.” Taking a moment, he rubbed his face and groaned again.

“I’ll do it!” Sam exclaimed, and the surprise on Mark’s face was not concealed at all. “Oh, come on, Mark. How hard can it be? I don’t been to be anywhere for a while. I’m an extra pair of hands.” He grinned, leaning his elbows on the table and wiggling his fingers. His eyebrows wiggled suggestively in turn.

Mark chuckled. “Fine. But I’m not paying you.”

“That’s fair.”

* * * *

Sam’s jacket had been left upstairs, traded for a purple apron. He had rolled up the sleeves of his black top. Mark tried not to stare at any of the scars or muscles. The top left held no secrets. By the time they ventured down to a different set of stairs to the café’s kitchen. “Go unlock the doors. I need to start the food.” He tossed the keys at Sam, who looked the tiniest bit unsure. “Go on. A new face will wake them.” They both chuckled lightly, as Sam walked through to the main area.

The sun had begun to rise, lighting up the area, with light already bouncing off of the snow. Four people, all wrapped in weather appropriate clothes, stood outside. They all spoke to each other with smiles, radiating a sense of friendly familiarity that Sam had longed for in the prison. He unlocked the door and opened it. “Mornin’.” He smiled at them all. They all turned to look at him, regarding him with caution, unused to this American stranger in their daily routine. As they all entered, they made their way to the register to order, with Sam quickly following to stand behind the desk.

“Two link rolls and a black coffee.” The first young woman yawned.

“Yes.” Sam nodded, look at the cash register with the utter helplessness of someone who had never had to work behind a desk before. “Uh…” He could feel all four people staring at him. Just then, Mark stepped out and Sam praised his angels.

“Good morning.” Mark called warmly to his customers, who all responded with the same warm enthusiasm. He nudged Sam out of the way, who had no problem allowing Mark to take over. “The usual?” He asked the woman, who nodded. “Four fifty then, darlin’.”

“You might wanna get this new boy trained up better.” She joked, handing over the money. Mark laughed along, yet Sam knew it wasn’t a genuine laugh. However, he felt a little indignant. He was being spoken about as if he wasn’t a scarred forty-three year old man with jail time on his back.

“Aye, new starts, what are they like?” Mark smiled, before turning back to Sam. “Let me show you again how the till works, Samuel.” Mark said gently, as if he were talking to a teenager. A playful look passed between them, yet Sam continued to act clueless and played along. For the next three customers, Sam preformed the task under Mark’s supervision. Each customer were only in for another five minutes each as Mark rushed back and fourth to grab their drinks and food.

Then they were alone.

“How hard is a touch screen till, really?” Mark commented, trying to hide the smirk on his face.

Sam scoffed. “This touch screen crap was barely a thing in 2001, okay?” He feigned offence, crossing his arms across his chest. Mark raised an eyebrow and gave him a look. “Barely.” He added, before the duo were laughing heartily together; a full belly laugh neither of them had felt in a long time.

Once their laughter had died down, the two stared at each other for a moment. A familiar feeling settled over them both. “I’ve missed this.” Sam commented faintly.

“What, serving the masses food?” Mark scoffed. He glanced at Sam’s frown, casting his eyes downward when he realised his comment had been serious. A pregnant pause passed, before Mark’s hand went to Sam’s bicep, touching him gently. “Me too.” He mumbled, noticing the smile that replaced the frown.

“Mark, I-“ Sam started, before the door opened again. Mark’s hand flew back, quick as a flash, and welcomed in the customer as if nothing were between them.

It wasn’t long before the café was much busier, full students, more workers, the elderly and even school kids. Most didn’t stay, Sam noticed, unless they were over sixty years of age. Most people eyed Sam with curiosity. His accent stuck him out like a sore thumb and he found himself having to introduce himself to all the older customers, the nosiest of the bunch.

“You’re a handsome young man.” One particularly snowy haired woman commented. “You’re new.”

Sam siled almost bashfully as he placed two cups of tea down at the old women’s table. “Uh, yeah, Mark hired me a little while back. Name’s Sam.” He nodded, straightening up a little. Out of the corner of his eye, he noted that the other woman was regarding him with a look of distain. It threw him for just a second. “So, are your husbands joining us, or do I have you two lovely ladies all to myself?”

That certainly took both of the women by surprise, if their expressions were anything to go by. Their surprise was quickly exchanged for laughter. The woman who had been looking at Sam suspiciously now looked at him with a certain fondness. That was more welcomed than the previous look. Though it hadn’t been the first time Sam had seen a customer glare at him. He needed to ask Mark about that.

“How long have you known Mark for, dear? You’re certainly not a local.” Old Woman #1 asked.

Sam thought carefully about his words before answering; “We’re old friends. We go way back.”

Seemingly satisfied with that answer, Old Woman #1 nodded and smiled.

Before he could dart off, Old Woman #2 spoke up; “Ah, so you’ll have known Emma then.” The first old woman exhaled softly and shook her head. Sam tried his best not to look utterly confused and nodded his head regardless. “Awfy shame what happened to the pair of them. No one deserves to be widowed, especially at much a young age. Now when I lost my Duncan…”

Sam listened to a few more minutes of old lady talk before excusing himself under the guise of needing to clean. He less than subtly dashed to the kitchen. Mark stood over the cooker, flapping something square in the frying pan. “Emma?” Sam asked straight away. He saw Mark pause. “Who the hell’s Emma?”

Mark turned his head to acknowledge Sam, before continuing to look at the cooking food. “Oh, didn’t you hear? I’m a widow.” It was said casually, as if they were discussing their favourite colour. “I suppose one of the locals told you? They’re gossipy as hell.”

Sam stood frozen for a moment, before scoffing and moving closer. “To a woman though?” He forced out a laugh. “Last time I checked you, Mark Quine, are as gay as they come.” As soon as the words came out, Sam regretted saying them. Mark spun around, sending a death glare Sam’s way. His voice lowered instantly. “They don’t know? How long have you lived here for?”

“Seven years.” Mark mumbled. The glare vanished as quickly as it had appeared.

“And they think you’re a straight widow?”

“Well, I was essentially a fucking gay widow, wasn’t I, Sam?” Mark snapped, emotion evident in his voice as he turned to fully face the other man. “As far as these people are concerned, my name is Mark McDaniel. My wife, Emma McDaniel, died in a car crash with our two children. Megan was six and Jamie was four. Very sad, very tragic.” Sarcasm dripped from his voice. “And that’s why I moved up here. So, no, I haven’t told the people of this tiny town that I’m a gay transgender ex-jewel thief who is wanted in several countries for various crimes, and who’s fiancée has shown up at his door having, from what I can guess, risen from the grave after fifteen fucking years!”

A dull thud quietened them both. Sam gave Mark a questioning look, who sighed in response. “Another thing we need to talk about. I doubt I’m the only reason you’re in Scotland.” Sam hung his head slightly, shaking it. Mark was right, and that added an amount of guilt to Sam’s already heavy heart. “Come on. We’ve got another hour until we’ve got people to cover for us.” A hand was placed on Sam’s arm, causing him to look up and meet Mark’s surprisingly warm eyes and soft smile.

Maybe, even if for only an hour, Sam could pretend this was their life and had been for the past fifteen years. A simple life, serving teas and coffees to residents of a small town. With no secrets, lies or debts.

If only life were that simple.

 


End file.
